


i was crying for joy, my sassenach

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [33]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:04:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Jamie gets proper revenge on BJR and Claire doesn't try to stop him</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was crying for joy, my sassenach

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/140635458597/imagine-jamie-gets-proper-revenge-on-bjr-and) on tumblr

Jamie gently drifted to half-consciousness – mind sifting through partial thoughts and half-remembered nightmares. Or were they memories?

Claire has insisted on the laudanum – and despite his misgivings, he’d been grateful for the oblivion. Only with her could he so willingly give up his body – his mind – his heart – his soul – knowing that she’d keep all of it safe, exquisitely loving him and caring for him with her gifted hands.

 

That had been – yesterday? Two days ago? Surely removing that blasted finger hadn’t taken too long – and definitely not as long as it had taken her to rebuild his hand at that manor house, so many lifetimes ago.

It had been years since he’d thought of Marcus MacRannoch – but now, for the first time, he recognized the great risk the man had taken, harboring such a fugitive. At the Abbey of St. Anne, Claire had told him that MacRannoch had done it out of deference – and respect – and love – for his mother.

 

His mother. She felt so close to him now – behind his closed lids he could see her beautiful face, serene, crowned with her halo of fiery red hair, glowing with a beautiful smile.

Mam. Mam. If he reached out, could he touch her?

“Mam,” he choked. “Mam. I need ye so.”

 

Movement beside him. Was it –

 

And a soothing touch he knew instinctively – even half-drugged and in shock from the amputation.

 

“Hush,” she whispered. “Hush. Don’t fight it.”

 

He opened his eyes. His vision swam. His mind was assaulted by the reek of sweat and the stench of rot and the sweet, tangy odor of blood. His blood?

 

He turned blindly toward her voice – and fixed his eyes on the lovely contours of her face, heartbreaking in its simple, fierce beauty.

 

“Claire, he rasped. “Claire –”

 

She smiled – so beautiful. Was she truly his?

 

“Shh.” She swept tender fingers along his feverish brow, tucking stray wisps of damp hair behind his ears. “Shh. Do you need the bucket?”

 

He swallowed – tongue heavy, throat thick. She pressed a waterskin to his parched lips, and he drank slowly, greedily.

 

Laying his heavy head back on the cot, he lifted his hand in front of his face – admiring her handiwork. Love freshly bloomed on his heart – love for her capability, her strength, her artistry, her practicality.

 

“It looks like I was born wi’ only the four fingers.” Awe. Wonder. And love – so much love.

 

She took his hand between hers, carefully caressing the tendons and bones and rough skin, hardened from honest work.

 

“I wanted you to have a fully functioning hand. I know much more than I did the last time. Once the swelling goes down, you’ll be able to do everything you could do before.”

 

He curled his fingers, safe within her hands – marveling at how they all moved in unison. He carefully made a fist between her warm, worn palms.

 

“*A Dhia,*” he breathed. “It all moves.”

 

Tears pricked his eyes. His gaze flew to hers – smiling in joy and pride. He got drunk on her eyes.

 

“Claire – I – ”

 

Tears shone in her own eyes. “Jamie – why – are you upset? I tried my best – ”

 

“No.” his voice was faint, far away – but firm. “No. I – I’m crying for joy, my Sassenach. For I have two hands again. Two hands to love ye with – to serve ye with. You have made me whole again.”

 

He brought her hands to his lips and gently kissed her fingertips, knuckles, palms, and wrists. Her pulse raced beneath her fine skin.

 

“For the first time in so long, I am whole again. I am a full man again. You have healed my body of him. Of Wentworth.”

 

Claire’s heart leapt to her throat. “Jamie – ”

 

“Ye have healed me of Wentworth,” he repeated, he awe of the realization so clear in his voice. “I am healed. You have healed me.”

 

Claire’s flushed cheeks shoe with tears. Slowly, carefully she settled herself against Jamie on the narrow cot, face to face, noses pressed together.

 

He wrapped his healing hand around her, drawing her so close. “I love you, *a Sorcha*,” he whispered. “So much. Always.”

 

Too overcome to find words, she sighed, settled even closer, and kissed him.


End file.
